


Bleed Into One

by liggytheauthoress



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies)
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Torture, Twincest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-10
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-11 06:25:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7879996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liggytheauthoress/pseuds/liggytheauthoress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“They hurt our family, Luca. I’m going to hurt theirs.”</p>
<p>After executing Papa Joe, the twins are laying low in New York. But a new enemy is lurking in the shadows, and they're out for blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from David Cook's "Fade Into Me"

_two months ago..._

_“Bastardi cazzo!”_

The sound of glass shattering filled the air as Gambino flung his half-empty whiskey glass across the room, hitting the TV screen square in the middle. Startled by the noise, Luca came hurrying in from the other room. “Pop? What’s wrong?”

Gambino mumbled a low stream of Italian expletives before slamming the palm of his hand against the back of his desk chair. “Fucking cunts killed Guiseppe!”

Luca’s brow furrowed as he processed what had just been said. “Uncle Joe?” When the only reply he received was his father’s troubled stare, he sank down into one of the armchairs on the other side of the desk. “Jesus…” He ran a hand through his hair and let out a sharp exhale before looking back up. “Who…?”

Gambino gestured angrily towards the TV. The picture was slightly distorted by the whiskey dripping down the screen, but Luca could more or less make out the image - a female reporter, flanked by what appeared to be composite sketches of three men he didn’t recognize.

“They’re calling them the fucking Saints,” Gambino snarled. “Murdering fucks...Executed him in front of a courtroom full of people - they wanted to make a fucking _example_ of him, goddamn butchers.” He jabbed a finger at one of the sketches, adding, “And that fuck, Il Duce, I know him. Guiseppe’s father, he would sometimes bring him in when there was special killing to be done...No surprise he turned on the family.”

“And the other two?”

“Probably his sons. Guiseppe’s father mentioned them once.”

Luca sighed slowly, watching the emotions playing across his father’s face - grief, shock, but mainly anger. “What’re you gonna do, Pop?” he asked cautiously.

There was silence for a few moments before Gambino’s lips curled back in a dangerous scowl that had intimidated even Luca on more than one occasion. “I am going to make them regret _ever_ crossing this fucking line,” Gambino said, voice low and deadly. “They hurt our family, Luca. I’m going to hurt theirs.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY FUCK I haven't written a Boondock Saints fic in over a year-and-a-half. That is way too long, I've missed writing my boys. So here is my tentative return - a multi-chapter one, no less, although considering my track record with multi-chapter fics that's probably gonna bite me in the ass at some point...Feedback is great motivation to keep going, though, just putting that out there.
> 
> Also: sincere apologies to any and all Italian speakers. I tried to do my homework as best as I could, I really did. Languages are not my forte, though. Please feel free to bawl me out in the comments.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to do this in the first chapter, but I want to dedicate this story to Tumblr user veritaaas, who is my all-time favorite fandom blogger and whose headcanon has inspired many a fic <3

Connor wakes to the familiar feeling of icy toes digging into his shins. Without opening his eyes, he lashes out with the arm that isn’t totally numb beneath his twin’s weight, swatting that same twin in the face. “Fuckin’ Christ, Murph, are you tryin’ to give me pneumonia?”

Murphy gives a defensive grunt and presses his face into Connor’s shoulder. “S’your own fault, ya bastard. You’re the one who stole all the blankets, I’m just tryin’ to keep from freezin’.”

Connor does open his eyes now, just enough to confirm that Murphy is telling the truth. As they usually do in moments like this, his big brother instincts kick in, and he rolls over and maneuvers himself so that he’s lying soundly atop his twin. It’s something he’s does countless times, since they were sharing a crib back in Ireland, but the results tend to vary, depending on Murphy’s mood.

This morning, that mood is apparently “grumpy and belligerent,” because Murphy’s response is a knee to Connor’s thigh. “I didn’t ask for you to smother me, arsehole.”

“I’m not, I am protectin’ my baby brother from the elements.” Connor smirks at the knowledge that Murphy can’t even dispute the use of the term “baby brother” - shortly after being reunited with his sons, Noah MacManus had confirmed what Connor (and, Connor suspects, secretly Murphy) had already known, that Connor was the older twin.

Unable to argue his brother’s claim to seniority, Murphy seems to settle for kneeing him in the thigh again and grumbling, “Bastard,” before relaxing back into the mattress and falling asleep again almost immediately.

Connor grins and rearranges himself so that his twin’s head is resting in the crook of his neck. He’s missed mornings like these. Ever since they became the Saints, they haven’t had many chances to just relax together this way - most nights have been spent taking shifts at standing guard in whatever dingy motel room they’ve ended up in, followed by early morning supply runs or conferences with Noah. And for Connor - who has never been able to truly sleep well without his brother close by, preferably next to him in the same bed - the loss of contact had started to wear on him.

If nothing else, the move to New York and their father’s absence have given him this back.

Resting his chin on Murphy’s head, Connor follows him back into sleep.

* * *

They’re woken again, some time later, by someone banging around the small flat.

Connor is alert in seconds, remembering the last time he’d been awoken like this, reflexively reaching for the gun he keeps on his nightstand - because he’ll be damned if he lets another incident like the Russians happen - but the smell of cigar smoke and the familiar stride of the intruder put him a little more at ease.

Da’s decided to make an appearance today, apparently.

Connor’s irritation at being startled out of slumber again either doesn’t show, or Noah just doesn’t care, because the older man switches on the lights without warning and announces, “Wake up, boys! We’ve got a job today.”

Beneath Connor, Murphy makes a petulant noise and mutters, “Jesus Christ, he’s worse than Ma was wakin’ us up for school…”

“At least we don’t need to worry about Sister Mary Agnes tannin’ our hides for not doin’ the homework.” Connor stretches and rubs his eyes as he sits up. Murphy starts to burrow back into the mattress with the clear intention of going back to sleep, and Connor swats him. “What’s the job, Da?”

“Got a lead from an old friend. Said there’s a drug shipment comin’ in for the Gambino syndicate tonight.” Noah has spread his trademark vest on the small kitchen table and is meticulously going over each of his guns. “We’re goin’ to be there.”

Murphy blinks blearily at their father. “Gambino? We’re goin’ after him already?” He sounds hesitant, and Connor can’t blame him. Logically, Connor knows that why they’re here, but over the past few weeks he’s gotten used to living more or less like normal people again, and part of him isn’t all that eager to go back to having bullets flying at them and prices on their heads.

Noah looks up, a stern tone in his voice as he says, “He’s the whole reason we came to New York. I’ve been waitin’ for an opportunity like this.” He gives the twins a hard stare. “Any objections?”

“No sir,” Murphy replies, glancing at Connor from the corner of his eye. “Just...wanna make sure we don’t go rushin’ into anythin’. Last time we did…” He trails off, and Connor knows his brother is back in Yakavetta’s basement, watching Rocco get blown away.

Connor resists the urge to hug his twin and nudges him lightly with an elbow instead.

Noah slides his last gun into his vest and says solemnly, “If we miss this, we might not get another chance for weeks. And the longer we wait, the more time Gambino has to make the first move. So we make it. Tonight. Understood?”

Connor and Murphy exchange a silent look. Murphy nods, just the slightest movement of his head, and Connor turns back to their father. “When and where?”

* * *

The man on the other side of the table looks up with wide, fearful eyes as Luca slides into the booth. “Relax, Malloy, I come in peace.”

Malloy looks anything but reassured, but stays silent as Luca pulls out a pack of cigarettes and offers him one. “Look, I just want my money, all right?”

Luca doesn’t reply right away, lighting his cigarette and taking a long drag, blowing the smoke into Malloy’s face. “Not until I know you kept up your end of the deal. Did you pass on my pop’s message?”

“I did. I did, Luca. They’ll be there tonight, all three of them.”

“Good.” Luca smirks and tosses a wad of bills onto the table between them. “You get half now. Half after.”

“That wasn’t the deal!” Malloy starts to stand, hands balling into fists, but freezes as Luca pulls his jacket aside just enough to reveal the gun in his shoulder holster. Raising his hands submissively, the older man sits back down, earning a nod of approval from Luca.

“I know it’s not what we agreed. But you and MacManus go way back - I just want to make sure your conscience didn’t get in the way of doing business.”

“You think I’d double-cross-”

“Hey, I’m just covering my ass, Malloy.” Luca stands. “You’ll get your money once we know for sure they’ll be there tonight. And if I find out you did double-cross us…”

He slowly stamps out his cigarette on the shoulder of Malloy’s coat. “But I don’t have to worry about that, now do I?”

Malloy jerks his head quickly from side to side. “No, Luca.”

Luca smiles and pats Malloy’s head. “Pop and I want you to know we’re both grateful, by the way. For helping us out here. We hope we can do business with you again in the future.”

Malloy watches in silence as Luca strides out of the diner and gets into a waiting car, then runs a hand over his face. His heart is heavy with guilt, and the money Luca left on the table feels like a grenade about to go off. He knows he’s done wrong, feels the knowledge like lead in his bones, but…

_Forgive me, Noah. I had no choice._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, the only reason this update didn't take an eternity was because I already had the chapter written. From here on out I'm pretty much making it up as I go, so...I wouldn't advise holding your breath between now and the next chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

Crouched behind a stack of pallets near the dingy, rundown dock, Connor tries to ignore the way his instincts are gnawing at him. He trusts their father. Noah has been doing this for a lot longer than they have, so while not being in charge rankles Connor a bit, he’s willing to let the old man make the decisions. And Noah had said this would be an easy job - just a few guards and some musclemen, all on the Gambino payroll. In, out, home in time for a shot.

But he can’t deny that, for whatever reason, something about this seems off. He’s getting the same feeling he did when he saw Rocco follow the priest into the confessional, the feeling that something is about to blow up in their faces.

He writes it off as the usual pre-job jitters and focuses on keeping a close watch on the pier. He knows Noah is hidden halfway down the dock, and he can physically feel Murphy’s presence at his back. Connor gives in to the urge to shift backwards, just enough to let his shoulder brush against Murphy’s chest, and lets the close proximity of his twin calm him a little.

“What time is it?” Murphy’s whisper is barely audible, but Connor’s ear is attuned to his brother’s voice, and he hears every word.

“Almost midnight,” Connor whispers back, checking his watch. “Fuck is this, they should have been here ten minutes-”

“Connor.” Murphy taps his shoulder and points to where a small yacht is pulling into view. “We got company.”

Connor tightens his grip on his guns as the yacht pulls up to the pier. A single figure hops off and moors it, gesturing in greeting to the lone security guard who has come out to meet them. The brothers wait for the men to start unloading the shipment, but they just stand there talking, the security guard glancing at his watch from time to time.

A flash of headlights illuminates the twins’ hiding place for a moment as a car pulls up to the dock. A fairly fancy black sedan - not the sort of vehicle usually used for this type of business at all.

Connor’s eyes narrow.

Something’s not right.

Murphy nudges him, as if to ask what the fuck he’s waiting for, but Connor just holds up his hand and motions for his brother to be patient. His instincts are screaming at him right now. “Somethin’ is wrong.”

“Yeah, the fact that you’re waitin’ for these assholes to send you a fuckin’ engraved invitation!” Murphy whispers harshly. “Da is waitin’ for us to move, if we take too long he’s fucked.”

Connor doesn’t even have the chance to reply before a bullet zings overhead and buries itself in the brick wall of the building behind them.

After that everything seems to happen at once - the doors of the sedan all fly open as five heavily-armed goons jump out, while the security guard and the other man on the dock have dropped to a defensive crouch and produced a couple of semi-automatics seemingly from thin air. Five or six more men emerge from inside the yacht, all brandishing guns, at the same time a second car pulls into view.

Bullets keep hitting the wall, the pallets, the ground on either side of the twins, and Connor swears because fucking hell, this was not the plan, they’ve been fucking set up and he honestly has no idea what to do now. They’re outnumbered and outgunned, and he and Murphy quite literally have their backs up against a wall.

Connor locks gazes with his brother, who nods, gesturing with his head towards the edge of the dock, and Connor instantly understands. It’s only twenty or so yards away - if they can make it into the water they might have a shot at getting away, and it might distract the men long enough to give Noah time to get out.

There’s a pause where the brothers silently squeeze each other’s shoulders, and Connor has to resist the urge to lean forward and kiss Murphy - for luck, he thinks, that’s all - and then they’re up and running, firing blindly at Gambino’s goons as they go. They cross the distance in a matter of seconds, and Connor finds himself thinking they might just make it…

And then Murphy is shoving Connor from behind, and time seems to slow down for a moment as the older twin loses his balance and plunges over the edge of the dock, hitting the water with a loud splash.

Connor feels the breath knocked out of his chest as the cold water of the East River closes in around him, and he only just manages to fight the automatic instinct to inhale. He flounders for a few seconds, trying to orient himself so he can get the fuck back on land, back to his brother, but the muffled sound of bullets skimming across the water’s surface, just above his head, makes him stop.

He waits for the sound of his brother following him into the river, but there’s no second splash.

_ Fuck _ .

He waits, he  _ prays _ for the hail of bullets to stop so he can surface and do something, pull Murph in after him,  _ anything _ , but it doesn’t let up, and the burning in his lungs is absolutely nothing compared to the pure, blinding panic building in his chest, because that’s his brother up there, alone, and Connor is  _ not _ going to let anything happen to him, not while he still has life left in him, and  _ for fuck’s sake why didn’t you fuckin’ follow me, Murph?? _

Just as Connor’s vision starts to narrow from lack of oxygen, the shooting stops. He waits only a second, just to make sure it’s not about to start again, before surfacing, sucking in a massive gulp of air as he does so, and looking around frantically for his brother.

All he sees are four bodies on the ground and the brakelights of the sedans getting smaller and smaller as the cars speed away, tires squealing.

Connor scrambles onto the dock, shouting for his brother, praying Murphy isn’t one of the bodies in front of him. He barely even registers each man’s face as he turns them over, only looking at each one long enough to determine it’s not his twin.

Murphy’s not here.

He didn’t follow Connor into the water. He doesn’t emerge from any hiding place, no matter how many time Connor yells his name.

That only leaves one option.

Gambino’s men have him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....like I said, don't hold your breath for the next chapter. This one gave me a lot of trouble and I'm still not happy with it, but I'm hoping - keyword: HOPING - the next few are easier, since I can stop setting up the plot and start doing what I love most; namely, fucking with Connor MacManus's emotions. Good times.


	4. Chapter 4

“What do you mean, you only got one of them?”

Luca grimaces; he can almost see the scowl on his father’s face. “They fucking made us, Pop. They made a run for it, we were lucky to grab _any_ of them.”

“I told you to be _subtle_ , Luca. What the fuck were you thinking? These men are professionals, did you think they wouldn’t sense anything was wrong?”

“Look, I fucked up, okay? We can still make this work. We have one son. I don’t know what happened to the other one, but the old man got away clean. And now we have the perfect bait for him.”

There’s a long silence on the other end of the line, one that means Gambino is thinking. After a long while, he says, in a voice that’s no longer angry, but malicious and calculating, “I have a new idea, Luca. Your fuckup may end up being a blessing in disguise.”

* * *

“Why the fuck are we just sittin’ here??”

Noah looks up from his guns to see Connor looming over him. It’s been almost two hours since the older man had emerged from his cover to find one son missing and the other son almost beside himself with panic. It had been a struggle just to get Connor back to the flat - the boy had been on the verge of tailing Gambino’s men on foot.

Noah doesn’t know his boys as well as he’d like to, but he’s well aware that their relationship is much more than just a sibling bond. He’s seen the way Connor hovers over Murphy like a mother hen, the way Murphy will immediately turn to his twin for comfort or reassurance. He’s seen the touches, the looks, the intimate synchronization.

So as much as he wants to fly off the handle right now, Noah knows he has to be the level-headed one here, because Connor isn’t going to be capable of rational thought until they get Murphy back.

“We needed to regroup,” he says firmly. “We don’t even know where they’ve taken him.”

“So what, are we just gonna sit here until Murphy’s body turns up in an alleyway?” Noah sees Connor’s hands clench tightly and imagines the boy digging his nails into his palm.

“If they were plannin’ on killin’ him, they would have done it back there and just left him.”

If anything, his words seem to agitate Connor even more. “And do you think Gambino’s gonna let him sit quietly in a corner until we show up? You know what this fucker is capable of, Da, what he does. Murph-”

“Murphy is strong enough to handle whatever Gambino might do before we get there. If nothing else, he’s too goddamn stubborn to let the bastards break him, you know that better than anyone.” Noah is pretty sure he sees the corner of Connor’s mouth twitch upright before settling back into a grim line, and he places a hand on his son’s shoulder and squeezes. “We’ll get him back, son. And when we do, Gambino won’t fuckin’ know what hit him.”

Connor does smile now, dark and feral and full of the promise of blood.

“Aye,” he growls. “That he won’t.”

* * *

Murphy wakes to the sound of someone barking, “Rise and shine, _stronzo!_ ” and a booted foot digging harshly into his ribs. He groans, curling in on himself, brow furrowing in confusion when he realizes he can’t move his wrists. He cracks his eyes open and finds himself lying on a dingy concrete floor, with a very large, very muscular man whose face indicates he’s been in one too many bar fights looming over him.

A sharp pain in his left leg registers, and he remembers what happened before this. The docks, the firefight. A bullet hitting his calf at the same moment he shoved Connor into the river-

Connor.

Murphy is instantly awake, glaring up at the man in front of him. “Where the fuck is my brother?”

Another kick to the ribs, not hard enough to break anything, but definitely enough to knock Murphy’s breath out of him. Someone else out of Murphy’s line of sight says, “You’re not here to ask questions, MacManus.”

Murphy cranes his head at an awkward angle in order to look over his shoulder and sees a dark-haired man in a well-tailored suit standing a few feet away, watching him impassively. He vaguely recalls seeing the same man in one of the sedans, right before something heavy made contact with his head and he blacked out.

“And just what the fuck am I here for then?” Murphy demands.

The suited man walks closer, stands close enough for Murphy to see his own reflection in the polished leather of his shoes, and looks down. “You’re here because my Pop’s not very happy with your family right now.”

“You Gambino’s kid?” Murphy sniffs, derisive. “Should’ve guessed it. Skinny little pissant like you would have to be the boss’s kid to have any kind of pull.”

The man’s lips curl back in a sneer, and all he says is, “Marco,” before that boot is driving into Murphy’s ribcage again, and this time he’s pretty sure he feels something crack, but he bites back the noise of pain anyway. He keeps his expression defiant as the suited man kneels down next to him and yanks his head back by his hair. “I wouldn’t be so rude, Mr. MacManus. Pop wants you alive for now, but uninjured? He doesn’t seem to care about that one way or the other, not as long as you’re still breathing when your daddy gets here.”

Gambino’s son smiles down at him, pats him on the head once, before straightening up and heading for the door. “I need to let Pop know he’s awake. In the mean time, Marco, help our guest settle in.”

Murphy sees Marco grinning as he slips a set of brass knuckles onto his hand.

Fucking hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I am aware I am hitting pretty much every villain cliche in the book but I don't care.
> 
> Sorry, Murphy. I do love you.


End file.
